


The Trials of Athos and the Kitchen

by venea_taur



Series: Windy City Musketeers [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 13:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venea_taur/pseuds/venea_taur
Summary: A few short stories about Athos and his adventures in the kitchen.Story 1: Athos has a secret which d'Artagnan is soon to discover to the glee of Aramis and Porthos.Story 2: Athos and d'Artagnan try their hand at baking. Predictably, it doesn't go well.





	1. Athos' Secret

“Hey, there was this package at the door,” d’Artagnan called out, shutting the front door and walking through the house to where he knew Athos, Porthos, and Aramis were in the kitchen. They’d invited him over for lunch before they went training at the Musketeer gym. He was new to the team and though definitely skilled in combat maneuvers, he needed to train with them to learn how to work with them. The three lived together in a house Athos owned. He’d already been over several times in the couple short months he’d been working with them.

“Who’s it for,” Aramis asked. He stood at the island kneading some dough while Athos sat across from him chopping some dried fruits. “Smaller than that, Athos,” Aramis said. Porthos was busy at the stove stirring something that smelled delicious in a pot.

“Athos, it looks like.”

“I’ll take that.” Athos dropped the knife and flew out of his seat as he spoke. He was reaching for the package when Porthos came up behind with a few strides of his long legs and pulled it out of d’Artagnan’s hands. He took one look at the package before speaking.

“Again, Athos.” Porthos sighed. “I thought we’d talked about this.”

“This isn’t like all of the others. This one is really good. I think.” Athos tried to get the box back, but it was firmly in Porthos’ arms. The larger man took the box over near Aramis.

“What’s going on,” d’Artagnan asked. Puzzled by the events, he hadn’t yet moved from the entrance of the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Athos said quickly.

“Athos here has a problem. He likes to buy things.” Aramis ignored their team leader’s denial.

“Doesn’t seem like a big deal. He does have the money.”

“True,” Aramis conceded.  “But the buying isn’t so much the problem. It’s the what.”

“What does he buy?” d’Artagnan wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the man spent his money on, not with that smile Aramis gave.

“Do you want to do the honors, Porthos, or should I?”

“Don’t you dare,” Athos said, voice firm and warning.

“It’ll be my pleasure then,” Aramis said, wiping his hands of extra flour. The glee that emanated from the man made d’Artagnan nervous. Surely it couldn’t be that bad. He didn’t think Aramis would do anything to seriously embarrass his friend, but still he was wondering what Athos was so adamant about hiding. There wasn't much the taciturn man seemed to be embarrassed of.

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis began, sliding a hand around the lad’s shoulders, “it’s time you learn about our fearless leader’s deep, dark secret.” The sarcasm was evident. As Aramis led him out of the kitchen, to the basement stairs, he heard Athos sigh.

“You couldn’t hide it from him forever,” Porthos said. He sounded only slightly apologetic. The two were following him and Aramis down the stairs into the basement. He’d been down here multiple times as they’d set it up as an arcade, complete with some of the video games, Skee-Ball, and a pool table, along with a kitchenette and bar.

Aramis continued to lead him through the basement, stopping in front of a closet near the kitchenette, a closet that he'd noticed but hadn't paid all that much attention.

“Here is where we keep Athos’ dirty secret. Are you ready?” Aramis had a hand on the handle. d’Artagnan wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Just open the damn door already, Aramis,” Athos said. All these theatrics were making it seem worse than it really was.

“As you wish.” Aramis opened the door with flourish. Inside, d’Artagnan saw a number of haphazardly arranged small kitchen appliances. Some rested outside of their boxes, others looked as if they’d never been opened.

“Yes, my young friend,” Aramis began, the arm back around his shoulder, “our Athos has an unhealthy addiction to infomercials.”

“He’s rather partial to the food ones,” Porthos added.

“They are the most interesting ones,” Athos said.

“This is the secret? Why?”

“Why a secret or why does he buy the appliances,” Porthos asked.

d’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders. He’d questioned the sanity of the men over the past couple months, but now he really was wondering what he was getting himself into.

“He can’t cook,” Porthos said finally.

“Well, he’s never needed to,” d’Artagnan said. He knew Athos came from a wealthy family.

“It’s not that,” Aramis said. He’d moved to lean against the opened door.

“What then?”

“I wanted to learn to cook,” Athos explained. “My parents wanted me to, especially when they learned I didn’t want to continue in the family business.”

“So, you can cook?”

“No. I was kicked out of class, banned from the community center.”

“For what?”

“Setting the kitchen on fire making toast.”

“That can happen to anyone.”

“On four separate occasions.”

“Four different times?” d’Artagnan couldn’t believe it. He’d seen this man take down criminals without breaking a sweat and he couldn’t make toast without setting things on fire.

“It shouldn't have been a surprise really. His parents long since banned him from their kitchen after he damaged it badly enough a few times to need a full remodel,” Porthos said.

“Now at least one of those times mother just decided she wanted something different. The damage wasn't that bad. Just some singeing,” Athos retorted.

“That's not what she told me.”

Athos glared at the man.

“After he nearly set the kitchen on fire here microwaving his dinner, we decided enough was enough and moved in,” Aramis said with a smirk.

“Now, you know that’s not completely true,” Athos said.

“No, we were just about to be evicted from our place,” Porthos said. d’Artagnan missed Aramis’ guilty look. “Not by our own doing, really. Just a bunch of misunderstandings. It really was for the best.”

“So, that’s the reason for the instructions on all of the containers and plates in the fridge.”

“Yes, we’d rather he not burn down the kitchen. It’s already had one remodel.”

d’Artagnan gave Athos a pointed look. The man just shrugged his shoulders, not quite embarrassed, but resigned.

“He tried using one of these devices to surprise us with dinner,” Porthos explained. “It was one of the grills that advertises itself as a lean, healthy cooking device. What happened, we’re not sure, but Aramis and me arrived home to find Athos sitting outside, face covered with soot, clothes slightly singed, and the firefighters finishing up after putting out the fire. We were lucky it only gutted the kitchen.”

“That’s why he isn’t supposed to buy these things?”

“Some.” Aramis gave a shrug. “They’re far too tempting for him and it never turns out well. But also they’re just pointless purchases. Between Porthos and me we can make anything Athos’ appliances can and we can make it tastier.”

“I'm just trying to help. They say these things make cooking quicker.”

“Are you sure you're a Musketeer,” Aramis asked. Athos scowled back. d’Artagnan had to admit there was some truth there. For being in charge of the top investigative team in the task force, to be taken in by infomercial claims was uncharacteristically gullible.

“Look, I just want to help out. You two are always doing the cooking and baking.”

“We let you do the cleaning,” Porthos said.

“I load the dishwasher with supervision.”

“That too,” d’Artagnan said incredulously.

“No, I never set it on fire. Not even close.”

“He doesn't arrange things properly to get them all clean,” Aramis explained. He turned back to Athos. “We're fine with the arrangement we have set up. We make the meals and you provide the food.”

“And the housing,” Porthos added.

“I like to help.”

“You do help. You're cutting up the fruit for bread,” Aramis said. Athos gave him a look that clearly said his comment wasn't helpful.

“So, what's in the package upstairs,” d’Artagnan asked.

“I don't recall.” Athos avoided looking at any of them.

“How much did you buy, Athos,” Porthos asked as they started working their way back up to the kitchen where the mysterious box sat.

“I don't know. It was late and I haven't been sleeping well the last couple weeks, so I wasn't really keeping track. I really did just sit down to watch them so they'd put me to sleep. It usually works.”

“As long as you don't use whatever you buy.”

“Why keep them around if you're not using them,” d’Artagnan asked.

“Keeps him from buying new ones,” Aramis said.

“Unless there's a new version, then he's got to have it,” Porthos added with a smile.

Back in the kitchen, Porthos grabbed a knife to cut open the box. He pushed aside the packing materials and pulled the box inside out. It was a snack sandwich maker.

“That actually looks useful,” d’Artagnan said, stepping closer to examine the box.

“If you're a teenager or broke college student, perhaps. It'll liven up your sandwiches a touch, but I guarantee me and Porthos could make them better,” Aramis said.

“But it even says, it takes no time at all. It would be perfect for downstairs.”

“d’Artagnan, please don't encourage him.” Aramis sighed. It looked like they had two infomercial-holics now. To be fair, the ads were entertaining, but the ideas they had about cooking and baking were atrocious and the appliances were just cheap gimmicks.

“Porthos, put this down in the closet.” They had to get the box out of the kitchen before the other two men got any ideas. He could already see the cooking bug lighting up in Athos’ face.  They could only hope that d’Artagnan was better in the kitchen than Athos otherwise him and Porthos might not be enough to keep them under control.

“You want proof that we can cook those sandwiches better? We'll make them for you tonight after practice and if they're better than anything you think that contraption could make, you two have to promise not to step foot in this kitchen without us here unless it's to get a drink or heat up a meal according to package instructions.”

The two exchanged glances, considering their options for a moment before agreeing to Aramis’ offer. Athos knew whatever Porthos and Aramis cooked would be better and the more sensible part of him was kicking in, telling him it would be best for all if he refrained from cooking.

“And you, young man,” Aramis began, pointing at d’Artagnan, “we're going to have to test your skills in the kitchen. Hopefully you're not as bad as I fear. You’re young and eager, we might just be able to teach you something.”

Aramis suspected it was a hopeless venture with the young man, but he needed to know what he and Porthos had to deal with, especially seeing as the man was sticking around. With any luck, he could make toast successfully.


	2. The Trial of the Birthday Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan try their hand at baking a cake. It doesn't go well.

“Why does it look like that,” d’Artagnan asked. “That’s not what picture says it should look like.”

“I don’t know,” Athos grumbled.

“Did you follow the directions?”

“Yes,” Athos ground out.

“It’s not supposed to look like that.”

Athos sighed. The young man was so more unhelpful that he thought he’d be. At least he’d brought more supplies, though.

“He’ll be home this evening, so let’s get going. I was only able to get Treville to stall him for so long.”

“Alright. I wasn’t really sure about some of the things, so I guessed.”

The two of them got busy, opening up the items, measuring, pouring, and mixing. A few hours later, when Porthos arrived home, he arrived to the smell of something burnt. Given the lack of fire engines and smoke, he didn’t run to the kitchen, but he also didn’t meander. Once there, he saw a stack of burned disks, which he imagined were intended to be cakes given their size, sitting on the island. Around the kitchen was a mess of flour, eggs, and oil as well as what must have been every dish they owned, dirtied. In the center of it all were Athos and d’Artagnan, both nearly covered from head to toe in flour, watching the oven intently as though it were the television.

“It’s not rising,” d’Artagnan, ever impatient, said.

“I think it has a fraction,” Athos said. This from the man patient enough to watch grass grow.

“It’s been in there forever and it hasn’t done anything.”

“It’s not been forever. Forty minutes, maybe.”

“Shouldn’t it be done then?”

“Nah. I’m pretty sure Aramis leaves ‘em in for at least an hour.”

“The last one was in for thirty and it was blacker than that toast you tried to make last month.”

“The oven was too hot.”

“I’m going to turn it up. I don’t think it’s hot enough in there.”

“It’s plenty hot.” Athos tried to keep him from opening the oven, but the younger man wiled his way past to open the door and stuck a finger into the cake tin. It sunk clearly down to the bottom of the pan.

“d’Artagnan,” Athos hissed, pulling the man’s hand from the oven to inspect it.

“It’s not even hot, Athos. It feels more like a hot day in August in there.”

“Well it was too hot last time. Maybe I turned it down too much this time.”

d’Artagnan took that as his cue to crank up the temperature dial, to what degree Athos didn’t find out because it was then that he heard a throat clearing behind them. In unison, the two turned around, lost their balance, and fell with a floury plunk on their butts against the cold tile floor.

It was Porthos, with a look that was a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Athos considered himself fortunate that anger wasn’t apparent. But then he hadn’t set fire to anything. Anything, at least, that Porthos could see now. He wouldn’t tell him about the one cake they somehow set on fire. That one had even surprised him and he’d seen all sorts of kitchen disasters, nearly all of them his own doing.

“We were trying to make a cake,” d’Artagnan explained.

“I can see.” Porthos took another look around the kitchen. It was going to take hours to clean.

“For Aramis.”

Porthos nodded.

“For his birthday.”

Porthos still remained silent.

“It was Athos’ idea,” d’Artagnan said after a pause.

Athos sighed. The man was useless in a tense situation. He’d have to work on that in training.

“Athos.” Porthos sighed. “You know we just buy a cake from his favorite shop.”

“Yes,” Athos said.

“So, why this?” Porthos knew there was more than what Athos was willingly sharing to this mess.

“I thought he’d like a homemade cake this year,” Athos explained after a pause and a heavy sigh.

“Some years he makes one for himself.”

“It’s not the same as having one made for you though. You know that. We all know it. He always makes us cake for our birthdays, but he never gets one of his own from us.”

Porthos had a feeling this was the reasoning. Athos knew well enough to stay out of the kitchen and to keep d’Artagnan out after he’d failed the cooking and baking test. The lad could make toast, but that was about it. The two of them together in the kitchen, honestly, was a nightmare. They seemed to bring out the worst in each other and encourage terrible ideas. Athos would never step in the kitchen to bake unless he had a good reason. And this was as good a reason as any.

With a sigh, Porthos stepped foot into the kitchen. He walked past them to turn the oven back down to a reasonable temperature and pull out the cake that was now close to smoking.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You two need to clean up a few of these dishes for starters. A couple of bowls, stirring spoons, and a measuring cup. Find the scale, too.”

“What’re you doing,” Athos asked.

“I may not be the baker amongst us, but I do know the basics of making Aramis’ favorite cake. He’ll be at the office for at least another couple hours. Treville’s given him a stack of paperwork that will take him forever to complete.”

“Thank you, Porthos,” Athos said.

“And then when we’re done, you and d’Artagnan can clean up this mess,” Porthos added with a smile. He and Aramis might have to supervise them, but they were still going to clean up this nightmare.

“Of course.” Athos nodded. d’Artagnan gave a sigh but nodded as well.

A few hours later, with the kitchen partially cleaned and the remains of their failures tossed in the bin, the three were putting on the finishing touches to the three-layer cake Porthos had successfully baked when Aramis arrived home with a grumble.

As he walked to the kitchen, where he saw the only light in the house and heard the sound of his three brothers, he stopped to listen to their conversation.

“I’m impressed, Porthos,” d’Artagnan said. His voice was tinged with awe and surprise.

“It’s all about following the instructions,” Porthos answered.

“I know, but we did that at least a dozen times and they never came out as nicely as this.”

“That’s because you set the oven temperature too high.”

“Not on all of them,” Athos commented.

Aramis smiled.

“You were also using bread flour.”

“I didn’t know there was a difference,” d’Artagnan said, a bit defensive.

Aramis chuckled lightly.

“You also used too many eggs. Don’t think I didn’t see the stack of empty cartons in the recycling.”

“Some of those were failures in cracking them. It’s really hard.”

“Especially when someone tries to show off by cracking them one-handed and just smashes the egg,” Athos said pointedly.

Aramis imagined the indignant look on d’Artagnan’s face he knew was there because the young man was far too predictable and laughed. He could only imagine what Porthos had come home to. He’d known something was up when he was the only one stuck in the office with paperwork and Treville was carefully monitoring him to make sure he didn’t take any of his shortcuts.

“I think our birthday boy’s home,” Porthos said loudly. The three poked their heads out of the kitchen to see Aramis laughing.

“Well someone’s in a good mood,” d’Artagnan commented.

“Oh… Porthos…” Aramis was trying to catch his breath. “What you must’ve come home to.”

“Never mind that, come take a look at what they made for you.” Porthos stepped forward to usher the still chuckling man into the kitchen, directing his gaze, as best he could, away from the mess on the one side of the kitchen, to the simple, but neatly decorated cake sitting on the island.

“You made me a cake? But we always buy one,” Aramis said. The three could see that he was clearly taken by surprise and happy.

“We thought you’d like a homemade one this year,” Athos said.

“You guys didn’t have to. I know it can’t have been easy.”

“We wanted to, Aramis. You’re always making us a cake, so this time we made you one.”

“Thank you. It looks wonderful.”

“Can we cut into it already,” d’Artagnan asked. The others laughed; Aramis nodded. When Athos went to find a clean knife and d’Artagnan clean plates and forks, Aramis turned to Porthos.

“Is it edible,” he asked quietly, his back turned to the other two.

“Completely. I did most of the work, but they did help some,” Porthos assured him with a smile.


End file.
